Part 74 (1/2)
”What think you she beheld?” asked Ranulph, quaking with apprehension.
”That which had been your father,” returned Agnes, in a hollow tone.
”Don't doubt me, sir--you'll find the truth of what I say anon. I am sure he was there. There was a thrilling, speechless horror in the very sight of her countenance that froze my old blood to ice--to the ice in which 'tis now--ough! ough! Well, at length she arose, with her eyes still fixed, and pa.s.sed through the paneled door without a word. She is gone!”
”What madness is this?” cried Ranulph. ”Let me go, woman--'tis that ruffian in disguise--she may be murdered.”
”No, no,” shrieked Agnes; ”it was no disguise. She is gone, I tell you--the room was empty, all the rooms were empty--the pa.s.sage was void--through the door they went together--silently, silently--ghostlike, slow. Ha! that tomb--they are there together now--he has her in his arms--see, they are here--they glide through the door--do you not see them now? Did I not speak the truth? She is dead--ha, ha!” And with a frantic and bewildering laugh the old woman fell upon her face.
Ranulph raised her from the floor; but the shock of what she had beheld had been too much for her. She was dead!
_CHAPTER IV_
_THE DOWER OF SYBIL_
_Card._ Now art thou come? Thou look'st ghastly; There sits in thy face some great determination, Mixed with some fear.
_Bos._ Thus it lightens into action: I am come to kill thee.
_d.u.c.h.ess of Malfy._
Ranulph Rookwood was for some moments so much stunned by the ghastly fate of Agnes, connected, as it appeared to be, with a supernatural summons similar to that which he imagined he had himself received, that he was incapable of stirring from the spot, or removing his gaze from the rigid features of the corpse, which, even in death, wore the strong impress of horror and despair. Through life he knew that Agnes, his own nurse, had been his mother's constant and faithful attendant; the unhesitating agent of her schemes, and it was to be feared, from the remorse she had exhibited, the partic.i.p.ator of her crimes; and Ranulph felt, he knew not why, that in having witnessed her terrible end, he beheld the ultimate condition of his own parent. Conquering, not without great effort, the horror which had riveted him to the spot, he turned to look towards Eleanor. She had sunk upon a chair, a silent witness of the scene, Mrs. Mowbray and Dr. Small having, upon the first alarm given by Agnes respecting Lady Rookwood's departure from the house quitted the room to ascertain the truth of her statement. Ranulph immediately flew to Eleanor.
”Ranulph,” said she, though almost overcome by her alarm, ”stay not an instant here with me. I am sure, from that poor woman's dreadful death, that something terrible has occurred, perhaps to Lady Rookwood. Go to her chamber. Tarry not, I entreat of you.”
”But will you, can you remain here alone with that body?” asked Ranulph.
”I shall not be alone. Handa.s.sah is within call--nay, she is here. Oh, what an eve of our espousals has this been, dear Ranulph. Our whole life is a troubled volume, of which each successive leaf grows darker. Fate is opposed to us. It is useless to contend with our destiny. I fear we shall never be united.”
”Dismiss me not with words like those, dear Eleanor,” returned Ranulph.
”Fate cannot have greater woes in store for us than those by which we are now opposed. Let us hope that we are now at that point whence all must brighten. Once possessed of you, a.s.sured of thus much happiness, I would set even fate at defiance. And you will be mine to-morrow.”
”Ranulph, dear Ranulph, your suit at this moment is desperate. I dare not, cannot pledge myself. You yourself heard, even now, my mother's sentiments, and I cannot marry without her consent.”
”Your mother, like my own, regards not the feelings of her children.
Forgive my boldness, Eleanor; forgive me if I linger now, when duty calls me hence; but I cannot tear myself away. Your mother may return--my hopes be crushed; for even your love for me seems annihilated in her presence.”
”Ranulph, your vehemence terrifies me,” rejoined Eleanor. ”I implore you, by the tender affection which you know I bear you, not to urge me further at this moment. Recall your firmer feelings, and obtain some mastery over yourself. I repeat, I am yours only, if I am bride of any one. But when our union can take place rests not with myself. And now, I entreat of you, leave me.”
”You are mine,” said Ranulph, with fervor; ”mine only.”
”Yours only,” replied Eleanor.
”Be this the earnest of my happiness!” exclaimed Ranulph, imprinting a long and impa.s.sioned kiss upon her lips.
The lovers were startled from their embrace by a profound sigh; it proceeded from Handa.s.sah, who, unbidden, had replaced the picture of the Lady Eleanor upon its frame. The augury seemed sinister. Every one who has gazed steadfastly upon a portrait must have noticed the peculiar and lifelike character which, under certain aspects, the eyes will a.s.sume.
Seen by the imperfect light upon the table, the whole character of the countenance of the Lady Eleanor seemed changed; the features appeared to be stamped with melancholy, and the eyes to be fixed with pitying tenderness upon her descendants. Both gazed at each other and at the picture, struck with the same sentiment of undefined awe. Beside them stood the dark figure of the gipsy girl, watching, with ill-concealed satisfaction, the effect of her handiwork. Ranulph was aroused from his abstraction by hearing a loud outcry in Mrs. Mowbray's voice. Hastily committing Eleanor to the care of her attendant, he left the room.
Handa.s.sah followed him to the door, closed it after him, and then locked it within side. This done, she walked back hastily towards Eleanor, exclaiming, in a tone of exultation, ”You have parted with him forever.”